By Eldorne, I think that's it!
by girlcalledsun
Summary: A selection of drabbles and ficlets about our favourite standard bearer. Well, my favourite, anyway.
1. Try not to steam it up

**All characters, and some dialogue, are Tamora Pierce's. But if you're reading this you knew that already.**

**Try not to steam it up...**

He saw Dom nudge Kel and demand a turn using her spyglass. He noticed the flush billow quickly up her neck and cheeks; but it left with equal speed, and employing her usual dry wit, he listened to Kel reply in turn. Lerant knew she liked Dom and hid it. Lerant couldn't help but notice her, her actions, she flitted in and out of his thoughts like those damn birds that seemed to follow her everywhere. He saw her steal a glance at Dom as the sergeant peered through her spyglass. His face was screwed up in a very unattractive manner. _How can she like him? I'd be so much better for her..._ the traitor thought blazed its trail across his mind before he could stop it. It was followed by its treasonous friend which suggested: _Maybe I could just acknowledge my feelings..._

_I don't want to feel all this! _Lerant thought with a wave of anger. There were hundreds of beautiful women in the Progress; by the Gods above, they were staring at Queen, the Royal Ladies and the Yamani delegation! The greatest concentration of beautiful women in the Kingdom, and he would surely be able to convince one of them a member of Eldorne House wasn't such a bad proposition...

Maybe he'd just take a little bit of a closer look at all these fine Court ladies; that would be a good idea. It did mean he'd have to ask Kel for that spyglass, but this was a means to an end. In no way an excuse to speak to her.

"If I pretend I like you, squire, can I use the spyglass?" Lerant asked Kel.

"Please don't try," she replied. "You're not that good an actor." But he was, and he'd never let her know.

**A/N: I can't help it, I can't, I'm obsessed with Lerant. This is the first of an occasional series of Lerant-centric fics.**


	2. Visiting the family

**Now, something from Lerant's past...**

**Visiting the family**

Lerant had been in Corus for a month or so; he had lost count of exactly how long. The repeated rejections had begun to merge together; the snide remarks concerning his family, his own general incompetence, and, just lately, his private habits, were beginning to lose their originality. The young man had arrived in the capital with high hopes of his chances to perform great deeds and thus renew Eldorne's good name. It seemed not to be. He was feeling thoroughly disillusioned with life, creeping resentment filling him up and sharpening his temper.

Today he had steeled himself to speak to the Captain of the Palace Guard; the man was apparently a fund of knowledge about who needed men-at-arms, and where the best place a sword-for-hire might find paid work. The steel haired man had done his best not to laugh at the young noble, but couldn't keep the amusement from this eyes as he told Lerant he was maybe looking down the wrong avenue. It was the subsequent suggestion that he might do better going home and staying there that had really rankled, though. Lerant has barged from his small office, through the guard room and out into the palace grounds, fury and shame coating the back of his throat with their familiar bitter taste.

It was in this frame of his mind that Lerant found himself near a wing of the palace jail. The walls of rough hewn grey stone walls loomed over him, cutting out the weak spring sunshine and making him shiver. He stopped to look up at that stern building, at the small barred windows that dotted its dank, moss strewn sides. There was a sudden flash of colour in the highest window, a green that caught his eye. Lerant gazed at that window, tiny in the distance, and thoughts unbidden flowed to his mind, of who might be in that cell, and she might have to say to her nephew. He made up his mind, and strode towards the jail gateway.

"Surely, as a close relative, I should be allowed to visit." Lerant argued, trying to sound calm and reasoned, not really succeeding.

"No other relatives have visited for, oh, five years at least." The guard was unmoved. "There's little enough family resemblance, young sir." He commented, eyeing Lerant's blond hair and brown eyes.

"I take after my mother's side; my aunt is my father's sister." Lerant began to grind his teeth.

"Oh, go on, lad." The guard smiled suddenly. "If you want to see that witch, who am I t'prevent ye?" He turned to unlock the iron-studded door behind him, and motioned Lerant through. The young man hurried through, slightly puzzled. The guard turned the key behind him, chuckling. "That pup'll entertain herself for a while, anyway..."

"Aunt Delia?" Lerant called quietly. He had had grand ideas of confronting his treasonous relative, telling her what had become of Eldorne, that no-one would offer him a job. Of the sneers, the taunts, the laughter...especially the laughter. It seemed less of a clever now, in this small, shadowed cell, with its sparse furniture and one small window.

"Nephew?" Her voice came from the shadows, and she stepped into what passed for light in her domain. Lerant could not remember Delia from his childhood, and stealing a look at her one remaining portrait in Eldorne had taken a long, difficult afternoon clambering through attics and dust sheets. Most of his image of her was from the tales of her deeds and beauty. He knew she would not look like he had always envisioned, but the slim woman with greying brunette hair and a faded green dress seemed so much less than he had expected. This was Delia of Eldorne, traitor? Scheming seductress? Then Lerant looked into the depths of her eyes.

"So. My brother's son. Come to gloat over an old woman's fate? I thought I was no longer mentioned within the walls of Eldorne?" She stepped a little closer and proceeded to circle Lerant, like a snake, those hard eyes taking in every detail.

"You're not." He answered roughly. This was feeling like a worse and worse idea by the second. "I wanted to see you for myself."

"Like an animal in the menagerie. Well, I'm used to that." Delia stopped, folded her arms, tilted her head on one side. "Really? Why are you defying your family to visit me?"

Lerant flared up. "Hah! Family! They hide in the fief, bitter and ashamed. No family of mine..." he tailed off.

"Yet you call me 'Aunt'" Delia mused, that silky voice gentle.

"You're to blame." Lerant continued quietly. "Why the family is broken and penniless. Why I can find no place here, in the army, at court, even as a gods damned man-at-arms..." He wound his courage to the sticking place, and looked her in those infamous eyes. "Why they taunt, and jeer, and then laugh when they think I can't hear. That's your doing."

"Well. That is something I'm not surprised to hear. They taunted me, too. Spat at me. Called me a whore, a bitch. Threw rotten fruit. Stones."

"Good."

"Good? You think I deserved it? When you know what it's like?

_Yes, I do, _Lerant thought furiously. But he said nothing.

"I understand." Delia murmured. "What it is like. The mockery of idiots, the pity of the pitiable, the fools playing their ridiculous games at court. They mock us, my nephew, my blood, because they fear us. What I could have been, what you could be...there are ways and ways to achieve power and respect, little one," she purred, tracing a long finger over his tunic. She leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "I could teach you such ways..."

Lerant shuddered, stumbled back. What was this? Visions of knights in armour kneeling before him, of beautiful woman hanging onto his every word, of crowns and sceptres and power filled his mind with glittering colour. He shook his head, gasped. Delia followed him, grasped his chin and pulled so he couldn't break her gaze. Her eyes were so hard, green like enamel.

"I can see it. I know it. Take the opportunity. You can be better than any of those lily-livered nobles." She flushed with long frustrated passions. "You can be great. Great! I was..."

"You were never anything, Delia. Other than a loser. A traitor. And, well, I may never rule the kingdom. Hell, I may never rule Eldorne. But what I do, I shall do myself, with my own body and mind and heart. Without plans or schemes." He wasn't quite sure what he saw behind her eyes, but her knew nothing like that lived in his skull. The idea calmed him. "I'm not like you."

"Then you're like them!" She spat, turned on her heel, and went to gaze out the window. "They all disappointed me. You're no different. No one has any damn vision these days."

Lerant left then, smiling at the guard and ambling out into the sunlight. The world was maybe filled with fools, Delia could be right there. So many people made him angry with their stupidity and ignorance. But he would keep looking, keep trying. He had to. If the alternative was a life like hers, turning in on yourself in the half light, he would rather play the fools at their own game, out here in the sun.


	3. That horse!

**A/N: Third chapter is a little lighter – enjoy! More to follow soon. **

**That horse!**

Lerant limped out of the stable block, muttering a variety of curses under his breath, citing all the major gods, several minor ones, a selection of immortals and some acts still illegal in Galla and Maren. He paused, leaned against the wooden wall, pulled off his boot and inspected his impressively purple big toe nail, the newest injury his feet currently carried.

"Drum not being amenable?"

Lerant jumped a foot at the voice, landed on his bad foot, swore with renewed volume and originality, then looked up to see Dom smiling benevolently down at him, eyes betraying his amusement.

"Laugh all you like, Masbolle, that horse has it in for me. I could cope with the barging, the mess, but he delights in standing and then, this is the good bit, _leaning on my foot. _He's so gods cursed big as well. He's caused me more reason to visit the healers than any enemy we've encountered." Lerant massaged his foot gently.

"Well, you won't have to look after him, soon."

"What do you mean?" Lerant's eyes snapped up, suspicious and worried.

"Sir Raoul's getting a squire, is the word on the grapevine. She can look after Drum, that's traditional squire duties."

"It's _my_ job. I'm very good at it."

"You hate that horse."

"Raoul can't be pleased with me." Lerant muttered, half to himself. "This is as good as replacing me. What am I going to do?" He chewed his full lower lip, then his ears caught up with his brain. "What do you mean, _she_? He's taking on The Girl?" He sounded horrified.

"So I heard from my cousin. The news was meant to cheer you up." Dom frowned. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm being replaced by a girl!" Lerant sounded utterly forlorn. Dom shook his head and left him be, standing on one foot and clutching his purplish-blue toes.


	4. Squirrelly fun

**A/N: Inspired by a single line in Squire**

**Squirrelly Fun**

"What on earth are you doing with that?" Emmit asked. He pursed his lips and gazed down at Lerant's little bundle.

"It's a squirrel. An orphaned baby squirrel. Since there is little enough going on here at the moment, I've decided to raise it. It can be a mascot."

"The Third Company of the King's Own, also known as "The Kings's Squirrel's?" Emmit snorted.

"Hah, "The Squirrelly Company!" I can't wait 'til the Second hears that!" Symric joined in.

"What are you doing here?" Lerant demanded of the corporal.

"Wanted Emmit to to fix by thumb nail. I bashed it with a hammer earlier." He smiled innocently.

"Well, Emmit was going to check my squirrel first, weren't you, Emmit?" Lerant asked.

"No healing Gift with animals, Lerant, sorry. Just humans." Emmit said.

"Fine." Lerant stated, and swept out of the tent, furious, gently cradling his squirrel in trembling hands. He headed to the stables, vaguely thinking about straw for bedding. After a quick glance about, he thought he was alone, and collapsed onto a pile of hay. He sighed, and the fight went out of his expression. How many years had he been here? And still they made fun of him, didn't take him seriously. What was he going to have to do to fit in?

As he mulled over these bitter thought, he didn't notice a tall, brown haired figure slip out of a stall containing a strawberry roan horse.

Later, Lerant found a roughly made box, with a secure lid, filled with clean straw, in his tent. There was also a small bag of mixed seeds. He smiled. _The lads do care after all_, he thought, as he happily settled his squirrel in its new home.

Kel, hiding under a tent flap nearby, smiled herself. She knew how uplifting an anonymous gift could be. She crept away, nursing a blood blister under her left thumbnail.

**A/N: You see, they are meant to be together.**


	5. Copper for your thoughts

**A/N: I seem to be spending more time on these than on "In the heat of battle", which is meant to be my main fic at the moment. Lerant does that to a girl...**

**Copper for your thoughts**

The mass exodus of the Tortallan army following the end of the Scanran war had initially been lonely and disorientating to the Lady Knight; however, she eventually tagged along when the Third Company of the King's Own as the all rode south, giving her a sense of the community she so missed after the months and years within New Hope's bustling walls. She was back amongst some of her oldest friends, men she had known for years, and she was glad of it. The journey had been been hard, the roads potholed and muddy with all the traffic, the soldiers weary yet impatient to be home. Tempers were as short and quick as the road was long and slow.

But finally they were back in Corus, in the stables of the Kings Own. Kel was scouring the last of the mud from Raoul's gear, humming idly, whilst Lerant was adding a last rug to Amberfire. They were the final two people in the stables, and were working slowly in companionable silence, savouring the weariness in their bones, for they knew, finally, it would be sated by a safe, warm bed.

"I think it's clean enough, Kel." Lerant commented idly. He was hanging over a stable door, blond hair flopping into his tan face, and those level brown eyes.

"Nearly done." She continued to hum, a song from the North that Tobe often sang. Lerant continued to watch as she polished. "You can go, you know," she told the standard bearer.

"Hmmmn." He smiled lazily, twirled a piece of hay in his blunt tipped fingers. Minutes drifted by, the quiet only broken by the swoosh of Kel's cloth and the occasional rustle as a horse moved.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Kel asked, finally, glancing up at Lerant and getting a lazy smile in return.

"Just wondering," he swung over the door in a single, lithe movement to sit cross legged on a straw bale opposite Kel, "what it would be like to kiss you."

Kel was thoroughly startled. She stared at Lerant, still with that languid smile on his lips, and felt herself begin to blush. Had she heard right? Surely he was teasing? He had to be teasing. Maybe he had a bet with someone? That would be it.

"Good one, Lerant. How much is the wager? Who's it with? It's usually Wolset, so I'll have to congratulate him on winning this one."

"Is that the only reason why you think I'd want to kiss you? For a bet?" Lerant's cheeks flushed red; Kel wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment, anger, or a mixture of the two.

"Isn't it?" She asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. Lerant shook his head in exasperation, and just as Kel thought he would flare up into a real temper, he sighed, stood up.

"G'night, Kel," was all he said. As he walked away, Kel wondered why he had backed down so fast. But she was tired, and had long ago given up trying to understand Lerant, so she packed up the gleaming armour, and went to bed.

She was in her room, finally unpacking, about an hour later, when there was a soft knock at the door. Kel opened it to reveal Lerant. She frowned at him by way of greeting.

"I've come for that copper. For my thought. I told you, and you never paid up. A knight honours her debts, or so I heard."

"Lerant, you didn't tell me what you were actually _thinking_, which would have been 'Here's an opportunity to win that bet', or, 'How can I most irritate Kel today.'" She was really tired now, and not in the mood at all.

"No, I told you the truth. And because I'm still thinking it, I think you might owe me two coppers by now." He scowled. "Still thinking it. Still wondering."

"Well, I'm not stopping you finding out." Kel snapped, and went to slam the door in his face. But Lerant had placed his boot half over the threshold, and stopped the door dead in its arc. He leaned in towards her, so close Kel could feel the caress of his hot breath on her cheek. She felt, all of a sudden, much more awake. Lerant paused, lips inches from her ear, and murmured;

"If you tell me what _you're_ thinking, this instant, I'll call it quits." He moved back, pulled a laconic salute, and proceeded down the hall.

Kel gave him his two coppers in the mess hall the next day. If she had told him what thoughts had been crossing her mind, she would have had to deal with them, too. Life was complicated enough, for the time being.

**Oh, I have so much fun writing these. Hope you all enjoy reading them half as much.**


	6. Side of the coin

**More, more, more, I can't help myself...**

**Side of the coin**

The wide stairs flowed down in many shallow steps, easily navigated by elderly peers, battle injured knights, or debutantes in highly impractical footwear. Lerant gazed down them, and from trepidation in his eyes he may as well have been viewing a sheer, mountainous drop.

Raoul noticed the sheen of sweat on his standard bearer's pale cheeks.

"It's alright," he said gently, "they don't suddenly become treacherous half way down. Follow me and Buri, kneel when you get to the throne, and it'll all be over. You deserve to be here." He added more seriously. "You are a valuable part of the King's Own, and a loyal subject of the King. You_ are _alright, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir." Lerant muttered. How could he say that to be here, to be accepted and trusted to be here, in the heart of the Palace, to be accepted by the King, no longer seen as a traitor, was as much as he could ever have dreamed of? For a member of Fief Eldorne to be recognised for services to the Crown! He had restored – well, as much restored as possible, for conservatives had long memories – his family name. There was no other dream he had held so close, cherished so dearly, in his life, and now he had achieved it. He felt, he was announced, as he took slow, steady steps down the wide flight, at Raoul's shoulder, hearing his name; _Lerant of Eldorne_!; projected across the hall by the herald, that his life was complete, that there was nothing else he could desire.

But as he stole a glance over the finery filling the hall, he saw _her_, caught her hazel eyes, saw the proud smile on her lips. The new realisation hit him like a lance in a joust; he desired her, and her trust, her belief in him, displayed in that sweet smile, meant more than that of these nameless nobles, more than even the King. He didn't know why, and part of him flashed with anger that she should intrude into his moment in the light, his vindication. He had heard somewhere that love and hate and merely the opposite sides of the same coin; what he realised as he knelt before King Jonathon, was that maybe the coin had been flipped over.

**If there are any specific situations, or characters, anyone would like to see in this, I'm open to suggestions and requests.**


	7. Night, night, Lady Knight

**These drabbles don't run in any sort of order, and aren't really connected, in case you were wondering...**

**Night, night, Lady Knight.**

After the Scanran War ended, the army was, if that was possible, busier than when the battles were in full swing. There were a million and one little jobs, repairing forts and roads, training, patrols, guarding notable persons as they rushed about negotiating the finer points of the new peace...life went on. Kel found herself a little out of proceedings. She was still in charge of New Hope and although her day was crammed from end to end with the running of the camp, she was a step removed from the bustle of the regular army and so was hungry for news, however it reached her.

One Autumn day, she was leading an archery group back from practice on the far side of the camp's walls, she saw a extra flag fluttering from the pole in the centre of the compound.

"Lady Kel, what's the blue flag mean?" Looey asked, gazing up. Looks like a sword and a ...a crown?"

"It's the royal standard." Kel replied quietly. "It means that the king is here." Her young charges babbled in excitement all the rest of the way back, but Kel sunk into her own pool of quiet and wondered exactly why the monarch might be at her refugee camp.

He hadn't come alone, it seemed. The extra bodies, noise and activity in the camp was unbelievable. There were at least four companies of the Kings Own, and two Rider groups. She recognised a few faces, enough to realise that Raoul and Buri must be amongst them, but she couldn't see anyone she knew well. There were a lot of brand new faces, she thought grimly, and thought a little prayer to all the men who had fallen in the war.

She did find a familiar face in the Headquarters, though.

"What in the great Mother's name are you doing with that?" A figure was removing her desk from the main meeting room. She could hear him puffing, but the face was quite obscured by several planks of well crafted northern pine. The desk stopped, and was lowered to the ground, to reveal a slightly sweaty and red faced Lerant.

"Kel. Nice to see you, too." He smiled briefly. "I am furnishing the quarters of my lord Raoul. You know how he likes to be able to get his paperwork done."

Kel raised on eyebrow, put her hands on her hips and just looked at him.

"Try again, Lerant. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

He sighed, scowling, and sat on the desk. "This is a bloody place, Kel. How can you have stood it for a year? There aren't even enough beds!"

"Hence the desk..." she sighed. "Who's it for?"

"Some of the clerks; they're all packing like sardines in some of the office rooms. The barracks are full of the soldiers, all your rooms are for nobles."

"Right...no-one told me."

"I'm sure you'd have noticed if the King was in your bed."

Kel couldn't help from guffawing in laughter. "I did mention the sarcasm, didn't I?"

"Ah, but you laughed, so you recognise the skill of a well crafted retort." A shade of a real smile touched his eyes, for the first time. Kel seemed a little warmer, a little more human than he remembered. But then, it had been years since she'd seen him.

"I will go and have a word with the carpenters. They are marvels, truly, if they can't knock up something by nightfall, no-one could." She turned to go. "Lerant," she called back over her shoulder.

"Yep?"

"Could I possibly have my desk back in the meeting room?"

He pulled a laconic salute. "Right away, Lady Knight." She reached the top of the stairs before he called back "And Kel...thanks."

She walked down the stairs with half a frown and half a smile on her face.

aAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAa

In the end, with the knight's normal rooms at headquarters taken over by the King, Raoul, Buri and the Royal entourage, the barracks packed with extra soldiers, and tents all over the camp to cope with the overspill, the only place Kel could find to sleep was the stables.

Really, if she had been a little earlier to organise it, she could have slipped in somewhere, she supposed, or she could have pulled rank, after all. But that thought made Kel smile to herself, and really, a warm and spacious straw bed in the quiet and secluded hayloft was about as good as it got. _Certainly better than a tent, or the crammed and sweaty barracks_, she mused, as she laid out her bedroll. She was just about to blow out her little lamp when there was a creak from the ladder beneath, a voice producing some muffled curses, and a bedroll landed unceremoniously on the straw a foot or two from her feet. It was followed by Lerant's head. He didn't notice her for a second, and, muttering, continued to haul himself into the hayloft.

"Hello, Lerant." Kel said quietly.

"Great merciful Godess!" Lerant shrieked, and nearly over balanced back down the shaft to the stables proper. He regained his poise. "What on earth are you doing up here?"

"Same as you, I guess. Finding somewhere to sleep."

"Humph. Well, I suppose I'll leave you to your rest." He nodded and went to throw his bedroll back down.

"Hang on...you'll never find any where to sleep now. Stay here." Kel wondered why she said that, but, well, it was said now.

"Here? With you?" Lerant looked dubious.

"Not with me..."Kel felt a blush chase its way up her chest. "It's a large hayloft. I can't have a fellow soldier missing vital rest, now, can I?" She added, trying to lighten the mood.

"If its an order from the Lady Knight Keladry..." Lerant negotiated a couple of bales of hay, and put his bedroll down at the far wall. He settled himself and lay down. Kel couldn't see him over the bales. She could hear him, however, as he twisted, turned, writhed and sighed. This carried on for a considerable length of time. Kel, worn out by work and the stress of the Royal personages taking over her camp, felt her temper begin to rise. She was tired and all she really wanted to do was sleep.

"Lerant!" She hissed . The noise stopped. "What is the matter? Some of us would like to sleep."

"Well, forgive me, but someone seems to have commandeered all the loose hay, and others of us are suffering on bare boards over here."

That was it. Kel lurched upright, not caring she was half wrapped in her bedroll and wearing nothing but a night shirt. She twisted a handful of hay as she cursed. "You ungrateful, selfish, whining little slug. I should have you on a charge." In her tiredness, she felt her temper slip away from her, like holding onto water in cupped hands. "Get out of here this instant, and good luck finding anywhere to sleep – I hope only the pigsty is free. At least you'll be at home there."

"Woah, a little hostile there." Lerant smirked, held up his hands in mock surrender, then rose to cross the loft to the exit ladder. Kel wished...she wished she could wipe the smirk off his face. He turned and offered a half bow as he passed her, still crouched in her bed roll, holding the handful of hay. She threw it at him. As a missile, it was a complete failure, doing no more than showering him with soft, pale golden strands. The hay was only a little lighter than his hair, she noticed, as he calmly pushed his forelock out of his face. He smiled at Kel; the calmness of it made her blood boil, made her...made her angry. That's what it was.

"Well." Lerant said softly, gathering his own ammunition, never taking his eyes from Kel. "If it's like that..."

And as the straw started to fly, as they started to strike at each other, grapple at each other's limbs, then their clothes, then, breath rapid and hot, to kiss with urgency and passion, Kel did not know what it was like at all. But it felt right.

AaaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAa

Kel was curled, dozy and warm, in the hayloft. The night was dark and she was comfortable, relaxed. She wondered what she was resting her head on. It was soft, warm, and rose and fell in a slow rhythm. When Lerant spoke, she felt his voice vibrate through her cheek, pressed to his chest, as much as she head in her ears.

"Night, night, Lady Knight."


	8. Real life goes on

**Now, this is a continuation of "Night, Night, Lady Knight", as requested by sarcastic rabbit. I almost, _almost_ had Dom in this, but he would have turned it into a fluffy comedy of errors, and I couldn't do that, I really couldn't. I hope this is okay.**

"**Real Life Goes On"**

Lerant woke slowly, feeling perfectly relaxed and rested. For the first few seconds, he wasn't just sure where he was; it definitely wasn't a tent, he could sense too much space above him (for he hadn't opened his eyes yet). It couldn't be a barrack room; it smelt far too good for that. In fact, inhaling a lungful of warm arm, he decided he could mostly smell the dry hay-and-apples aroma of stables. Mostly, for there was also a trace of a rose-and-amber scent. Why was it familiar? As he came completely awake, he became aware of a pressure on his chest, at his side. He opened his eyes.

"Morning, Keladry." Lerant said softly to sleeping woman at his side. She woke quickly, raising her head from where it rested on his chest, to look at him. She frowned, blinked, ducking her head as she blushed; then she smiled up at him.

"Good morning, Lerant. Sleep well?" she asked.

"Not too bad, I suppose. As Commander of the camp, is it you I would complain to about these makeshift sleeping arrangements?"

Kel scowled and pinched his arm by way of response to this quip. She then yawned, and stretched. Lerant could feel her muscles flex against his body. He didn't really feel like complaining, not at the moment. He reached a hand up to stroke her cheek, to pull her face up for a kiss. The moment was broken by a horn call from the square below the stables.

"Wake up call!" Kel gasped, sitting up, clutching her blanket about her as she searched for her clothes. "Godess bless, I have things to do!" She pulled her shirt over her head.

"Hang on a minute." Lerant frowned, hurt and confused. "You're dashing off; what about me? What about what's happened, and us..." he sneezed; Kel was throwing handfuls of hay through the air in the search for her breeches.

"Lerant, we'll have to talk about this later." Kel hopped into her boots, and hauled her tunic over her head. She glanced at him; seeing the undisguised emotion in his face, memories of their night together rose unbidden to her mind. Kel's own feelings rushed over her, and made her pause; as she knelt quickly in front of him. She tenderly removed some strands of hay from Lerant's blond hair, then kissed him soundly. "Later, in private, yes?"

"Alright," he grumbled, placated. Kel disappeared down the ladder from the stable loft, as he began to look for his clothes, in turn. This took a few minutes, as his shirt was hanging from a beam overhead; he had no idea how it got up there.

aAaAaAaAaAaAa

Kel stood in the shadows of the stable door, marshalling her thoughts and making sure she was presentable. She fished one last piece of hay out of her hair, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the door in what she hoped was a calm and nonchalant fashion. She maintained her composure very well until she turned the corner and walked, with a smack, straight into a certain Sir Nealan of Queenscove.

"Neal!" she gasped, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you okay?"

"Good thing I'm a healer." he grumbled, rubbing his bicep. There was a green glow over his fingers, then he grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. "Much better. Kel, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards." He added, finally looking up at her. "What have you been up to at this hour? I've told you that you work far too hard."

"Oh, yes, I've had hundreds of little things to attend to already this morning." Kel said carefully.

"You've got your Mask on," Neal said, suspiciously. "What's the matter?"

_Mithros bless, Neal can read me like a book; I can't hide anything from him, _Kel thought. "I'm just worried about the Royal party being here, the security and so on." She suggested. _At least I will be, when I get a chance!_

"Hmmm." Neal didn't look quite convinced.

"And I really must get on, or I will be even more worried and it will all be your fault. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Stop it, Mindelan. You know where I am if you need any help." He swept into an ornate court bow. "I am but yours to command, my Lady."

"Never do that, ever again." Kel said, straight faced. "And now I must get going. I'll see you later, Neal." She trotted off in the direction of headquarters.

Neal watched her go; Kel wasn't quite her usual self this morning, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was different. His stomach growled, and he decided it was, he could muse over it whilst he ate his breakfast. He set off towards the mess hall.

aAaAaAaAaAaAa

Neal deposited his loaded breakfast tray with an unceremonious clatter on the table. The diner opposite scowled at him, his mouth full of porridge preventing a verbal retort. Neal couldn't mistake the hand gesture, though.

"Nice to see you, too, Eldorne." Neal said lightly. "Didn't notice you for a second, you're much less conspicuous without your standard."

"Go boil your head, Queenscove, if there's a pot big enough to fit it into." Lerant continued working though his meal.

Neal buttered some toast, loaded it with honey. "Everyone seems quite distracted this morning, I am finding no opponents worthy of crossing verbal swords with me," he said sadly.

"Does that mean you'll shut up for while?"

"And that is not nearly up to your usual standard of retort, Lerant." Neal chewed for a second. "I mean, I know you find it a struggle to interact with the human race, but even Kel dashed off rather than talk to me this morning." He frowned. "I wonder if I smell?"

"No more than normal." Lerant stopped eating and eyed Neal suspiciously. "What was Kel up to?" he asked lightly.

"She said she was worried about all the visitors, but was just being blank, you know how she goes. I could tell she was hiding something, though."

"She was upset?"

"Preoccupied. Why are you interested, anyway?" Neal looked sharply at Lerant.

"No reason; I was trying to make normal conversation, if you must know, but obviously it's a bit much for you."

"Ah, that's the Lerant we know and ...well, know. Why communicate when bitter sarcasm will do instead?"

"That's rich, coming from you." Lerant stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'm sure there's something more important I can do, rather than listen to you." He stalked off through the mess hall.

Neal shook his head and drank his tea. He almost wished Domitan was here; at least he'd get some banter.

aAaAaAaAaAaAa

Kel had washed, changed her uniform, and now she was on her way to a meeting with Sir Raoul and their Majesties about the future of New Hope. She was sure she should be more worried about the Royal audience, but her mind kept offering her flashbacks to last night. Little snippets of memory kept assaulting her, from the echo of his touch on her body, to the ghost of his musk and sandalwood smell in her nose. She ducked into the shadows behind a store room in order to control her thoughts and still her beating heart. Kel shut her eyes and took one deep breath, then another, thinking of a clear, calm lake.

"What were you saying to Neal?" The whisper was urgent in Kel's ear, but she barely had time to register the words as training kicked in, making her grab the speaker and slam them against the wall, her forearm hard against their throat. Kel looked at her would-be assailant.

"Lerant!" She gasped. "What on earth...?"

"Let go of me, you crazy knight!" he coughed.

"Oh, sorry." She relaxed her grip. "But what _are_ you doing, creeping up on me like that?"

"My apologies." He scowled. "_I said_, what were you saying to Neal this morning? He seemed to think you were upset, or at least I got that impression in amongst all the rubbish he usually spouts."

Kel scowled. "Don't speak about Neal like that. And I didn't say a thing to him. At least, nothing about _us,_ anyway."

"Embarrassed to admit to it, were you? Consorting with the men?" Lerant folded his arms and stared at Kel, demanding an answer. She met his eye, held it.

"You know that's not true. There is a time and a place for such things, and with so much going on, I thought you'd be glad if this was just between us for a while." She tried a little smile.

"So you are ashamed about us, then."

"Oh, come on, Lerant," Kel sighed. She plucked his sleeve. "You're being unreasonable about this."

"I am not. You are acting like nothing happened, so forgive me for getting mixed messages and being worried about you!" He looked away, unable to meet Kel's gaze anymore. "I thought you were regretting last night," he muttered.

"Of course not," Kel said. "I..." she faltered, and he looked back at her. Lerant reached out, cautiously touched her cheek with his forefinger. Kel turned her face into his calloused hand, then let herself be drawn into his arms. "I don't regret it, and I'm not embarrassed," she continued, a little muffled by his embrace. "I'm just not sure what else I feel, yet." Lerant paused in his task of planting little kisses down the side of her neck and looked suspiciously at her. "It's good, really it is," she rushed to say, "but we have to decide what we're going to do. We are going to do...there is going to be..?" she asked, suddenly worried. She had been so busy reassuring him, she hadn't realised she needed she needed such reassurances herself.

Lerant looked at her squarely. "If you want it, then I do, too."

Kel smiled, held him close. Lerant kissed her for a brief, thrilling second, making her pulse race and her lips throb, but he pulled away quickly. "Later, like you said." He saluted, parade-ground perfect. "Real life goes on, I believe, Lady Knight." And with that he walked away, without a backward glance. Kel leaned against the wall and scrubbed her face with her hands. She sighed, deeply, and proceeded to her meeting. She thought perhaps she might never understand Lerant, but she knew she was compelled to try.


	9. Guilty pleasures

**These were always Lerant fics, not Kel/Lerant fics. This was written for the tammydrabble prompt 63 "Guilty Pleasures"**

Sergeant Domitan of Masbolle dropped his travel worn packs on his bed. "So, first night back in the palace! Eighteen months on the front line.."

"You were _in front _the front line on one occasion, if I remember rightly, Dom." Lerant of Eldorne had appeared, and was leaning nonchalantly in the doorway.

"You are a stickler, Eldorne. Eighteen months on, or about, the front line of the Scanran war."

"Better."

"Thank you. And now, back to civilisation, to culture, entertainment, to wine, women and song. Where first?"

"Really, you do this every time we're on leave. You make a big song and dance about painting the town red, but we all know where you're really going."

"What do you mean?"

"We all know before you let any of the Court ladies set eye on you, it's the barbers for shave, shampoo, and haircut. You're the vainest soldier in the King's Own."

"Rubbish. Whoever told you that was lying."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Wolset's usually so truthful."

"Not on this occasion."

"He is well turned out, though."

"I can't say I ever noticed that, Lerant.

"That's a shame."

A few awkward moments pass.

"You've nothing to do, Lerant?" Dom asked, pointedly.

"No, not really."

Dom sighed. "Do you want to come, too?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

**For all the lovely people at theswoop.**


	10. Lycra

**More Dom/Lerant buddy fun. I actually wrote this ages ago, but only posted it on my live journal. Anyway, enjoy.**

"Dom? Dom, look.." Lerant tugged gently at his friend's sleeve. "Really, look at this."

"You are putting me off my shot, Eldorne." Dom creaked his bowstring back another inch, then loosed the arrow. It hit the widest ring of the target - barely. "That's your fault." He grumbled.

"Oh, stop moaning, Masbolle, you were losing anyway. Look at Master Numair."

The two men turned to watch the mage, who had started a stretching routine in the practice court next to the archery butts. He went through a series of exercises, warming up all the muscle groups of his body thoroughly.

"Lerant?"

"Yes, Dom?"

"I can't look away."

"No, neither can I. I want to, but I can't."

"Compelling. I do feel a little sick, though."

"Yes. I feel numb, mainly. I wonder if my eyes will be the same again?"

At this point Numair noticed the two soldiers staring at him in slack jawed amazement. He waved, cheerily, and despite getting no response, jogged over to say hello.

"Domitan! Lerant! Getting in some archery practice, I see?"

Lerant blinked, glanced down a t the bow in his grip, then managed to nod. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Good. I was going to go for a run, now I've warmed up." Numair nodded his approval. He seemed in a very jolly mood.

"Sir?" Dom seemed very apprehensive. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking…what happened to your clothes?"

"Oh, this? I wondered if anyone would notice!" Dom and Lerant shared a look. "It's exercise gear made from an entirely new fabric, developed by mages. I call it a leotard, from the old Thak. Look, it's very stretchy," he plucked a handful of material and pulled it a foot away from his chest, "so allowing for comfort and freedom of movement." He turned round and touched his toes. "See?" He asked from between his legs.

Dom had turned away for a second, but Lerant managed to croak out an affirmative answer.

"I believe it will be very practical for the armed forces."

"As a uniform?" Lerant squeaked.

"Well, more as training gear, initially, but we'll see. I may be able to weave spells into the fabric as protection, you see."

"Invisibility spells?" Lerant wondered. He winced as Dom, face still averted, kicked him in the shin.

"No, but that's a good idea! I make a note of that.." Numair patted himself down. "That is a drawback, though. No pockets. Never mind, I'll just remember." He smiled cheerily again. "Well, I better head off. See you later."

"Yes, Sir. Goodbye, Sir."

They waited until the apparition in skin tight purple and yellow was a hundred yards away before they caught each other's eyes, and collapsed into giggles.

"Oh, by the Goddess!" Dom choked, "what did he look like? You could see everything!"

"Just imagine if we have to wear it!" A thought struck Lerant. "Imagine Lord Raoul in it! Lord Wyldon!" He grabbed the fence post for support as he honked and gasped. Dom sunk to the ground, turning purple as he fought for breath.


End file.
